Raff looked horrified. ‘I will never despise my name again. What a lucky escape I had. For that I absolutely must get you a drink. What are you drinking?’
Clara opened her mouth fully intending to say no again and more firmly this time, but something extraordinary happened and the words in her head changed as soon as they left her mouth. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’m drinking the local pale ale.’
* * *
Raff hadn’t intended to leave the house tonight. It had taken him over two days to get back to England and once the plane had touched down at Gatwick he had headed straight to Hopeford like a homing pigeon aiming for a new world record.
He’d hoped that the key to finding Polly would be right here in the surprisingly shapely form of Clara Castleton or hidden somewhere in Polly’s house—and he was going to find it whatever it took.
Only it turned out that being mad with his twin wasn’t enough; he simply couldn’t invade her privacy. One step into her study and he had frozen. He might not like it but Polly was entitled to her secrets.
For a long time they had only really had each other. Now they didn’t even have that. The moment she’d started blaming Raff for their grandfather’s blatant favouritism it had all fallen apart and everything Raff did made it worse. Even when he’d finally left, finally had the courage to follow his own path, he couldn’t make it right.
He didn’t know how to repair the damage—if it was even repairable. But whatever she thought, she could rely on him. He’d find out where she was, what was wrong and he’d fix it. Fix them.
So here he was. She’d asked him—told him—to come home and he had. But now what?
His mood had turned dark, exhaustion and frustration making rest impossible, introspection unbearable. Five minutes of television channel hopping later and Raff had had enough. It was time to go and check out the ridiculously quaint town his sister had bequeathed him.
Otherwise he was going to end up having a conversation with the cat. Mr Simpkins knew more than he was letting on; he was sure of it.
It didn’t take Raff long to explore. Hopeford defined sleepy small town, was the epitome of privileged. The narrow streets closed in around him, making it hard to breathe. This rarefied atmosphere was exactly what he had been running from the last four years.
He’d breathed a sigh of relief at the familiar sign hanging outside a half-timbered building. A pub, a chance to get his head together, regroup. Four years of changing places, of new jobs, new challenges all had one thing in common. A local watering hole. A place to find out the lie of the land, find some compatible companionship and quench his thirst. The Swan was a little older, a lot cleaner and a great deal safer than his last local but he didn’t hold that against the place.
Especially when he walked in and clapped eyes on Clara Castleton.
It had taken a moment or two to recognise her. Sure there was the same feline tilt to her long-lashed eyes, the same high cheekbones but that was where the similarity ended. This version had let her hair down, metaphorically as well as physically, the strawberry-blonde length allowed to fall in a soft half-ponytail rather than ruthlessly pulled back.
Even more disturbingly the lush full mouth was curved in a generous smile.
But none of that mattered. Clara was a means to an end, that was all. Mr Simpkins might not be ready to talk but a friendly night in the pub and he might have Clara telling him anything he needed to know. She must know more than she was letting on—she ran every aspect of Polly’s life.
‘Thank you for the drink...’ oh, no, prim was back ‘...but I really need to be going.’
Raff glanced at his battered old watch. His grandfather had given him a Breitling for his twenty-first but he preferred the cheap leather-strapped watch he had bought first trip out. Bought with money earned by his own sweat, not by family connections.
‘It’s still early. Are you sure you don’t want to stay a bit longer?’
‘It’s a work night,’ she reminded him. Raff had been doing his best to forget. Tomorrow he was going to have to try and dig up something smart, get up ridiculously early and join all the other pack rats on an overpriced, overcrowded train. No matter he hadn’t made this exact journey before. He knew the drill.
The only surprise was whether his particular carriage would be overheated or freezing cold. Unlike Goldilocks, Raff was under no illusions that it would be just right.
‘Yes, it is,’ he agreed. ‘Unless you tell me where Polly is and save me from a day in the office tomorrow?’
She sighed as she got to her feet, gathering her bag and coat in her arms. ‘I already told you...’
He’d blown it. He was too tired to play the game properly. He made one last-ditch attempt. ‘I’m sorry. Let me walk you home.’
‘Why? So you can interrogate me some more?’ She shook her head, the red-gold tendrils trembling against her neck.
‘No.’ Well, only partly. ‘It’s good manners.’ In some of the places Raff had lived you always saw the girl home. Even if it was the tent next to yours.
She shot him an amused glance. ‘I think I’ll be okay.’
‘I won’t,’ he assured her. ‘I’ll lie awake all night worrying I failed in my chivalric duty. And I’ll have to go to work tomorrow all red-eyed and pale from worry and they will all think I’ve been out carousing all night. Which will be most unfair as it’s barely nine p.m.’
‘I don’t live far.’ But it wasn’t a no and she didn’t complain as he drained his drink and followed her out, noting the blush that crept over her cheeks as she said goodbye to her cousin, who pulled her close for a hug and to whisper something in her ear.
‘Where to?’ he asked as he fell into step beside her. She walked just as he’d thought she would, purposeful, long strides in her sensible low-heeled boots.
‘I live above the office.’
That wasn’t a surprise. ‘All work and no play...’ he teased. It wasn’t meant with any malice but to his surprise she stopped and turned, the light from the lamp post highlighting the colour in her cheeks.
‘Why do people think it’s a bad thing to concentrate on work?’ she asked. Raff didn’t reply; he could tell the question wasn’t really aimed at him. ‘So I work hard. I want to provide stability for my daughter. Is that such a bad thing?’
Daughter?
‘I didn’t know you were married,’ he said and wanted to recall the words as soon as he said them. This wasn’t the nineteen fifties and she wasn’t wearing a ring.
‘I’m not,’ she said coldly and resumed walking even faster than before.
Way to go, Raff, nice building of rapport, he thought wryly. You’ll get Polly’s address out of her in no time.
He cast about for a safer topic. ‘How old is she? Your daughter?’
‘Ten,’ she said shortly but he could feel her soften, see her shoulders relax
